Twice A Princess

By Susan Meier

Dearest Godmother,

I only have to make one more match to break this curse! If only I wasn't utterly distracted by my devastatingly handsome boss, Alexander Rochelle. I know I should stay away from him for I am betrothed to a prince in my country.

But now Fate has decreed Alexander as the next match in spite of his apparent disbelief in tender emotions. Is it too much to hope that the woman he vows to cherish will be me?

Your lovelorn goddaughter,

Princess Meredith

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781742898612

Susan Meier

Susan Meier spent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper – until she began to write and realised everything that had come before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan lives in Western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband, Mike, her children, and two over-fed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at www.susanmeier.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Nearly purring with joy over making her twenty-first love match, Princess Meredith Montrosa Bessart, known to the guests of La Torchere Resort as Merry Montrose, stood on the sidelines of the dance floor at the wedding reception of Cynthia Rawlings and Rick Barnett. Resplendent in his black tux, typically dark and brooding Rick gazed down at his beautiful blond bride as they glided along the dance floor, Cynthia’s satin gown floating around them.

They looked like Cinderella and her prince, which to Merry was ironic considering that she was the real princess on Torchere Key, though a curse had changed her from a young, beautiful royal into a crone. Even dressed in her pretty blue gown, with her gray hair swept into a twist and wearing the diamond earrings and necklace—part of the collection of jewels belonging to Silestia’s royal family that she’d been allowed to keep to remind her of home—she didn’t look anything like a princess.

Not dancing, Merry?

The smooth baritone voice of Alexander Rochelle, owner of southwest Florida’s La Torchere Resort and Spa, flowed over Merry from behind. Tingling with awareness, she took a second to compose herself before she turned around to face him.

Dressed in his black tux, his blond hair casually styled in sexy disarray and his blue eyes dancing, Alexander was so gorgeous, so tantalizing, that the breath in Merry’s lungs disappeared, her chest tightened and her knees weakened. But the first fifteen seconds in Alexander’s company were always like this. Not just because he was gorgeous, but because he had an air of excitement, power and sensuality about him that Merry hadn’t seen matched. Not even in the court of Silestia, where her father was king.

He’d even had that air when he’d posed as a handyman.

As resort manager I don’t dance, she said slowly, forcing herself not to flirt with him. As a homely crone she would look ridiculous flirting with a handsome man. Though she had to admit that when she believed he was just a handyman, she had wanted to do more than flirt. He’d disguised himself to discover the secret of the resort’s recent love matches, but he soon revealed himself as the resort’s owner, first to her privately and then at a staff meeting. That same morning, he moved from a cramped employee efficiency apartment into the best villa on resort grounds, and he had been on La Torchere ever since, not really watching over her shoulder, but a hands-on owner to be sure. So, any thought she had of flirting had long ago died.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t smile. Maybe even joke a little. But if I did break protocol and dance at a guest’s wedding, I certainly wouldn’t do it in front of the boss.

Alexander laughed. Again, the smooth sound of his voice seemed to pour through Merry, touching her when she didn’t want to be touched—

Well, that wasn’t precisely true. She’d like nothing better than to be touched by this man. Tall and broad shouldered, with a deep and masculine voice that reminded her of dark liaisons and whispered secrets, Alexander Rochelle was so physically male that Merry couldn’t imagine anything more feminine than being his lover. Just once in her life, she yearned to experience romance as intense, as perfect, as she was sure it would be with this man.

But she couldn’t. Rick and Cynthia’s marriage made their commitment official, finalizing the twenty-one matches that would break Merry’s curse. She didn’t know what would happen next. Literally! Right now, she stood before Alexander as a twenty-nine-year-old princess in a crone’s body, but any minute now her physical appearance, regal bearing and comportment could be restored. Then Alexander Rochelle might be attracted to her, but it was her duty to return to Silestia to marry Prince Alec Montclair, the man to whom she had been promised.

That was one of the lessons she had learned during this curse. To respect and appreciate her life—including her duties. As a member of a royal family she had responsibilities. She was a leader, a ruler and one of the guards of the benevolent magic passed down through her lineage. She could be a tyrannical monarch—but because being a crone for seven years had shown her that being born a princess was a gift, not a curse—she had decided to fulfill her lot in life with joy.

And her lot in life was to marry Prince Alec.

What if your boss—the actual owner of the resort for which you work—told you it was okay to dance?

Then I’d probably dance, but no one’s asked me.

Alexander set his champagne glass on a convenient table and bowed elegantly before extending his hand to her. Then allow me to ask you.

Tingles of attraction tiptoed through Merry, tempting her to place her fingers on his open palm and satisfy at least a little of her longing, and she gulped.

Being put under a curse and becoming old and haggard had been confusing, and it had taken her two years to adjust. Getting twenty-one couples together had been the struggle of a lifetime. The last five matches had been darned near impossible! She didn’t want to blow her success because she was in lust.

Of course, who was to say dancing with Alexander would wreck her success? There was no way it could affect the twenty-one matches she had in place. Even if she tripped over his feet or drooled on his jacket, she couldn’t embarrass herself because she hadn’t yet transformed into Princess Meredith. No one at this resort even knew Princess Meredith existed. They knew Merry Montrose, resort manager, wrinkled-up old prune who looked about ten years past retirement, not three weeks away from her thirtieth birthday!

Damn it! It wouldn’t hurt anything to dance with Alexander, and certainly after seven long years of torture she deserved one tiny morsel of womanly joy.

Of course she did!

I’d love to.

She placed her white-gloved fingers on Alexander’s palm. Through the lace she could feel his warmth, his power. Pleasant shivers of excitement skipped up her arm. But when he slid his hand to the small of her back and nudged her as close to him as propriety allowed for a dance with an elderly woman, the shivers turned into a torrent of arousal. A very unacceptable torrent of arousal! After seven years of deprivation, being this close to a strong, sensual man nearly overwhelmed her. Heat shot through her and Merry honestly worried that she would faint.

You’ve done a wonderful job with the resort.

Conversation! Thank God! She needed anything to get her mind away from the strength she could feel in his shoulders, the scent of his aftershave, the sensuality in his watchful eyes.

Thank you.

The fact that so many love matches seem to originate here hasn’t hurt publicity.

Merry gulped again. Thanks. I think.

He laughed. Thanks is the appropriate response. I was definitely complimenting you. La Torchere Resort is getting a reputation better than the fountain of youth. We’re the fountain of love. If our number of guests continues to rise, we may have to add another wing to the hotel.

Merry held back a grimace. This time tomorrow she would be on her way home. The matchmaking would stop. The fountain of love wouldn’t necessarily dry up, but it would surely slow down. Don’t send the project out to an architect yet.

Why? Do you know something I don’t know?

No, Merry hastily replied, probably too hastily, because he gazed down at her and Merry forgot everything but the latent fires of sensuality in his blue eyes. Standing so close, feeling his power as he effortlessly guided them around the dance floor, she was caught again in a yarn of yearning. What would it be like to kiss this man? To have him touch her and want her….

"I think you do know something I don’t know."

Jarred out of her thoughts, Merry said, No. She paused to give him a reassuring smile and to remind herself that right at this moment she was a crone whom a man like Alexander wouldn’t want on a lost bet. Also, with the curse broken, she would return to her true self, and as her true self she was promised to someone else. She had to stop fantasizing. I don’t.

Okay. He smiled at her.

Merry’s knees weakened again, and this time she couldn’t seem to force them back to full strength. As she and Alexander floated along the dance floor, the lithe movements of his body brushing hers conjured all kinds of blissfully sensual images that would dissolve any woman. But Merry also remembered that with her curse broken she was probably experiencing the longings of a young woman because she was returning to her normal self. She didn’t know how this curse worked, but there was a very real possibility that the blink of an eye could take her from crone to princess.

The blink of an eye?

Merry’s heart bumped against her ribs. She really could zap back into a princess in the blink of an eye. After all, she’d become a crone in the time it took for her godmother to chant a few words. It wasn’t impossible that she could suddenly find herself a princess in a crone’s gown, having to explain the change to the man currently swirling her around the dance floor.

She had to get the heck away from Alexander Rochelle!

She drew a quick breath. Alexander, I’m sorry, she said, bringing those soft blue eyes of his back to her again. But I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well.

His features sharpened. You’re ill?

His genuine concern touched a forgotten place in her heart. No one had cared about her for seven long years. But she wasn’t sick and he wouldn’t want to hear the real reason she needed to get away. So she fell back on her most obvious, and also most annoying, problem as a crone. Maybe tired is a better word.

You do look flushed.

Of course she did. Dancing with him had driven her to a state of excitement she hadn’t felt in nearly a decade. It was a wonder she wasn’t a puddle at his feet.

She smiled slowly, wearily, because acting was her ticket away from the temptation of his arms. I’m simply tired. It’s been a stressful week.

Helping to plan a wedding hasn’t made it any easier. Alexander stopped dancing, slid his arm from her waist and stepped back.

And Merry knew what Cinderella felt when she had to leave the ball. She could almost hear an imaginary clock striking midnight, as if announcing the end of something she wished could go on forever. But it couldn’t. She stifled a powerful urge to weep and pulled her gloved hand out of Alexander’s much larger one. As their fingers separated it seemed as if she were watching their destinies split, too. She belonged to someone else. They were not meant to be together.

Moving away from him, she sealed that fate. Goodbye, Alexander.

But Alexander shook his head as he led her off the dance floor. Oh, no. You’re not walking to your quarters alone.

I’m fine, Merry protested softly, though she knew she’d accept the assistance of whatever resort employee he pressed into service, if only to save an argument. She expected him to stop a passing waiter or to escort her to the bar where the bartender could ring the front desk. Instead he directed her to the ballroom entrance.

What are you doing?

Walking you to your villa, Alexander calmly replied.

You can’t! Panic skittered through her. Not only was she unbearably attracted to him and terrified she would make a fool of herself, but also she was changing. She was sure of it now. At any second she could zap back into a princess.

I can.

"Alexander…Mr. Rochelle. You can’t. You’re one of the guests of honor at the wedding!"

The bride and groom are the guests of honor. He guided her through the lobby, across the shiny green floor tiles, past the fountain that roared from a stone base to the skylight several stories above, to a glass double-door entrance in the back, which automatically opened.

When she didn’t immediately step outside, he caught her arm to keep her moving and the heat of his hand on her flesh triggered responses that thundered through her. Her heart rate jumped to triple time.

This isn’t right!

This is fine. He urged her onto the garden path.

Moonlight spilled into the courtyard. The leaves of the palm trees swayed in the light breeze off the gulf. The Oasis pool waterfall shimmered in the distance. The scene couldn’t have been more romantic if Merry had planned it herself, intensifying the continuing shivers of desire that trembled through her from his touch. Light-headed with fear, Merry picked up the pace.

When Merry Montrose began to walk faster, almost running to her cottage, Alexander Rochelle also quickened his steps. He wondered what she’d think if she realized she was being disrespectful to a monarch, then shoved that thought to the farthest corner of his brain. Being Prince Alec Rochelle Montclair wasn’t merely stifling. It was a royal pain in the butt.

That was why he liked the United States. The people paid attention to royalty but money talked louder than titles and rich movie stars were of more interest to them. After Alec’s betrothed, Princess Meredith Bessart, disappeared, he avoided the press by coming to the U.S., knowing that without money he really wasn’t that amusing. But he soon realized that in a country as progressive as this one, he could reverse his family’s financial misfortunes.

However, he also quickly saw that his business associates always assumed he had more money than he did because he was a prince, making deals difficult. So with a slight change of his first name and by dropping a few extra names he didn’t really need, he became a commoner, someone expected to negotiate like a pit bull, and he built an empire.

In those seven years, his appearance had also changed. He grew into his lanky frame, filled out, acquired a more mature demeanor and the stature of a man. People in his home country wouldn’t